The Wild Wolf Pup (Zoe's Rescue Zoo #9)(33)

“I’ve had a bad day,” I confess, tracing my finger over the music notes.

“You want to tell me about it?” He asked softly, threading his fingers through my hair.

“I went by my dad’s today and Reina was glowing, talking about the baby and how she and my dad are already trying to decide on a name,” I pause, lifting my head from his chest to stare into his eyes. “She’s happy, so is he, and I look at them and I wonder how they’re not scared. I sound like a hypocrite because I don’t blame my father for my illness but the facts are there, Blackie. I’m bipolar because it runs in my family, because I inherited this from my father. I know he didn’t want this for me and that it kills him knowing I share his pain but then I think about the baby and wonder if it’s even crossed his mind that the child he’s about to have can be diagnosed too.”

I quietly watch as he absorbs my words and doesn’t respond.

“I’m not trying to dampen their happiness but I want to understand how they’re able to push away the fear and embrace the beauty of it…because I can’t. I tried putting myself in their shoes and thought about us having a baby and I don’t know if I could do that, if I could risk an innocent child the burden of my illness.”

He lifts his hand, brushing away the tears that slide down my cheek.

“I want kids,” I whisper. “I want to give you a whole house full of babies, but how selfish would that be of me?”

“Lace, you think for one second your father isn’t tormenting himself, asking himself those same questions? I don’t doubt he’s not consumed by that same fear but he’s got Reina there, hanging on to hope that their kid will be perfectly healthy. And if he’s not, then they’ll deal with it like every other parent deals with a child’s illness. Think about it, baby, there is no controlling what we’re handed. People who are healthy, who have no traces of illness in their genes have babies that are born with birth defects and sickness they never even heard of. It doesn’t make them bad parents, if anything it strengthens them, because it takes a special person to care for a sick kid, no matter what the illness.”

“So, if we had a baby, and she was like me—”

“We’d love her like we would if she wasn’t like you. We’d give her all we could because we’re those people…the ones that can’t be beat no matter how deep they’re dragged down. If our kid had any illness, bipolar or fuck, I don’t know, if she was born with a heart defect, that kid would have the best life we could ever give her because we didn’t give up on each other and there is no way in hell we’d give up on our baby.”

He cradles my face in his hands.

“Our baby could be perfect and grow up just fine, only to turn out like his dad…and then what? We let him rot? Or we drive his ass to rehab until he gets straight? We don’t get a choice in what we get…we grab it and hang on with all we have.”

“How do you do that?” I marvel, shaking my head as I stare back at him. “How do you always make it better for me? You’re always saving me, Blackie, and most of the time it’s from myself.”

“Yeah, well, it’s our thing. We’re both our own worst enemy but that’s why we got each other. I’ll keep slaying your demons, keep you smiling because that smile of yours, destroys all the ugly inside of me.”

“It’ll be okay,” I say.

“It’ll be okay,” he assures.

“We’ve got a lot of love to give a baby when the time comes.”

“A shit ton,” he agrees, smiling at me.

“And it might be fine.”

“Either way it’ll be fine, I promise.”

“Can we name our son Leather?” I tease, feeling the weight fade from my shoulders.

“No,” he laughs, wrapping his arms around my waist, flipping me onto my back as he leans back and stares down at me. “You’re going to be a great mom someday.” He smiles, bending down to kiss me. “And when the time comes, we’ll work through it, girl.”

Yeah, we will.

We’ll keep rising.

Because we’re Leather and Lace.

And we’re stronger than we know.





Chapter Thirteen




Stepping out of the shower, I lean over the vanity and wipe my hand across the steam fogging the mirror and stare at my reflection. I didn’t look so translucent anymore, the color returning to my complexion. The first trimester of my pregnancy was trying on me, and the first eight weeks of the second as well, spending most days hunched over the toilet, releasing anything I put into my mouth. The morning sickness has faded and I’m starting to look like my old self, still pale compared to Jack’s olive skin but I don’t look like I am knocking on death’s door. I’m still waiting to recognize that glow everyone seems to think I have. It’s probably a myth but I’m still hoping to see it.

My eyes travel downward as I turn to my side and drop my hand to my tiny belly. I narrow my eyes, hoping to find the slightest change from yesterday, or the day before that, desperate for more evidence of the life Jack and I created. The doctor has assured us that he or she is growing just fine and any day now my pants won’t fit me. Who is excited to buy maternity clothes? This girl right here.